


Goodnight

by saoirse9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brother Feels, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Writing This Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:32:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saoirse9/pseuds/saoirse9
Summary: Challenge from Strange_Fascination: write a kiss that isn’t romantic.“Goodnight, Sammy,” Dean whispered.





	Goodnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Strange_Fascination](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_Fascination/gifts).



> This was a challenge I got this morning from my very dear friend, Strange_Fascination. I had this idea immediately. It hurt. A lot.

Dean was four and Sam was barely a week old, cradled in their mother’s arms as she rocked him to sleep. The tiny infant yawned, his eyes slipping shut. Wide-eyed, Dean watched his little brother sleep before looking up at his mom. Mary smiled softly. “Say goodnight to Sammy, Dean.” The little boy leaned forward and gently kissed the sleeping infant on the forehead, just like his mom had done so often with him.  
“Goodnight, Sammy,” Dean whispered.

——————————————————————————————————

Dean was nine and Sam was five, bright-eyed and full of questions. Dean had just finished reading Ferdinand to Sam for the third time and the younger boy’s eyes finally closed with a mumbled, “G’night, Dean.” Dean waited until he was sure his brother was sleeping before leaning forward and gently kissing Sam’s small forehead, as he had done every night since the fire.  
“Goodnight, Sammy,” Dean whispered.

——————————————————————————————————

Dean was twelve and Sam was eight; it was Christmas and Sam had just found out that monsters were real. Though he’d wanted to know, he hadn’t taken it well. He’d been terrified and though Dean had tried, he hadn’t been able to assuage his baby brother’s fears. Sam had cried himself to sleep, Dean perched at the end of the bed, his own unvoiced doubts swirling around his head. Looking over at his now sleeping brother, Dean realized Sam would never have a peaceful night’s sleep again. Though he had stopped kissing Sam goodnight almost two years ago, Dean leaned forward and gently kissed his brother’s worried forehead.  
“Goodnight, Sammy,” Dean whispered.

——————————————————————————————————

Dean was twenty-two and Sam was eighteen, stubborn, rebellious, angry, and frustrated. Sam and their dad had fought again, Dean sitting at the table trying to pretend he couldn’t hear the shouting through his headphones. He looked up when the door slammed; John had walked out, presumably to find his friends Jim, Jack, and Jose. It wasn’t the first time one of these fights had ended that way. Dean glanced over at one of the beds, where Sam had thrown himself and was now feigning sleep. But Dean could see the slight shaking of his brother’s shoulders. Dean watched Sam as the younger Winchester slowly slid into actual sleep. A knot of dread formed in Dean’s stomach; the fighting was getting worse and Dean feared what Sam would do - he was legally an adult now, after all. After a long moment, the older brother shuffled over to the bed and did something he hadn’t done in years; he leaned over his sleeping brother and gently kissed his troubled forehead.  
“Goodnight, Sammy,” Dean whispered.

——————————————————————————————————

Dean was twenty-seven and Sam was twenty-three and Dean had just watched a survival-crazed super soldier shove a knife into his brother’s back. Sam was gone. Dean had failed. He stared at his brother’s prone form. If he squinted hard enough, his vision blurred enough by his tears, it almost looked as though Sam was only sleeping. Except... Dean screamed, raged, and then decided. There was only one way to fix this. He gathered what he’d need and headed for the door. But he paused once more at his brother’s side. Leaning forward, he placed a gentle kiss on Sam’s cold forehead.  
“Goodnight, Sammy,” Dean whispered.

——————————————————————————————————

Sam was twenty-four and Dean was twenty-eight and had just been ripped to shreds by a hellhound. And Sam couldn’t stop it. Clutching his brother to his chest, tears hot on his face, Sam felt something harden in his heart. He would fix this. He leaned forward and gently kissed his brother’s pale forehead.  
“Goodnight, Dean,” Sam whispered.


End file.
